


Grab Your Gun (Time to Go to Hell)

by Omni



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Scott McCall, BAMF Stiles, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Future Fic, M/M, Mild Gore, POV Alternating, Pining, Violence, mention of past character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-02 12:08:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omni/pseuds/Omni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After failing to protect the most important person in his life, Stiles decides to join the ranks of the Argent-established "protectors" in order to prevent such tragedies from happening to others.  It's been eight years since he's even stepped foot in Beacon Hills, but his newest assignment leaves him no choice.  While Scott's glad to see his best friend again regardless of the circumstances, Derek is another matter.  He and Stiles hadn't exactly parted ways on the best of terms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Search and Destroy" by 30 Seconds to Mars, which was my musical inspiration for this.
> 
> I'd like to give SUPER AMAZING thanks to [Juily](http://officerstilinskihale.tumblr.com) for being my "Chief" and enforcing my self-imposed deadlines. 
> 
> I'd also like to super thank [Cookie](http://cookiesees.tumblr.com) for helping me to see what I was doing wrong. And, of course, [Rizuno](http://rizuno.tumblr.com) for moral support and general awesomeness. 
> 
> FIC NOTE:  
> All the italicized snippets blocked off with rows of ~~~~ are flashbacks, in case you can't tell. POV rotates between Scott, Derek, and Stiles, in that order, three times in the fic. Except the flashbacks are all Stiles. It is, ultimately, a Stiles story. We just also get to see how he and his actions affect others close to him.  
> ____________________________________

_He would look back on that day and mostly remember that it was very sunny. If it had been a movie or TV show, it was the sort of scene that would require heavy rain. At the very least, the clouds should have been black and bloated and ready to rip open at any moment._

_But, no, it was bright. Oppressively so._

_There were snippets of other memories. Lydia’s tears. They were very thick. He remembered them vividly, because he didn’t know people could actually cry tears like that. There was Scott, always at his side, always keeping a hand on his shoulder or arm or even holding his hand._

_At some point he made a speech. He recalled looking down at a crumpled piece of paper with smudges in the ink._

_He couldn’t tell you what he’d said. Not just because it had all taken place nearly a decade ago. Honestly, he wouldn’t have been able to tell you ten minutes after he’d said the final word._

_Probably because it wasn’t something he_ wanted _to remember._

~~~~~~~~~~

“Stop!” Scott commanded, even as he ran away from the raging omega hot on his trail. Earlier the bastard had managed to toss him onto the jagged end of a broken branch protruding from a tree, which resulted in a rather inconvenient hole through Scott’s torso. It was healing, but not fast enough, thanks to all the other injuries. Like the arm Scott was fairly certain had been broken. 

Derek staggered out of the surrounding brush, trying to roar imposingly at the omega even as his own injuries were obviously affecting him worse than Scott’s. 

“Derek, no!” Gritting his wolf-sharp teeth in frustration and pain, Scott spun around to try to get his beta to stand down and retreat. “We can’t fight him. Come on!”

They must have both been hurt worse than they thought, because somehow they had stupidly allowed themselves to be corralled to the cliffs. “Fuck,” whined Scott, pressing a claw to his bloody side. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Beside him, Derek was snarling at the advancing omega, both of them flashing bright blue eyes at each other. Scott tried to think, tried to remember something useful from all those times he and Allison had snuck out there when they were kids. It was times like this that he wished Stiles was still around, because they could sure use someone shouting strategies to them through a bluetooth headset. 

In a blink, the omega had Derek pinned, teeth buried deep into his throat. Scott roared, the sound resonating throughout the entire preserve, causing the trees to tremble from the force of the vibrations. It didn’t stop the omega, didn’t even make him hesitate. As Scott charged to attack, the omega tore his head back, bright blood spraying as he issued his own roar. 

Scott didn’t even see him move, but felt the sharp snag against the flesh of his wound, felt it travel across his chest like searing hot water. He felt hot then cold. Then wet. The world shifted under his feet and he lost his footing. 

_”It’s just an omega,”_ he thought in confusion as he looked up at the looming mass of blood and muscle and teeth. _”How is this even possible?”_ Part of his mind thought he should ask Derek, even while another part reminded him Derek probably couldn’t talk at the moment. If Derek was even alive. 

Wait, no, he was alive. Scott would have felt it if Derek had died.

There was a strange sound, like a heavy, metallic clink, that rung in Scott’s ears as if listening to it bounce off the walls of a large, empty cave. He blinked to try to make the world focus, but everything kept getting blurred around the edges. A familiar scent was in the air that he could just barely detect over the blood and sweat. It shouldn’t have been there, though. Beacon Hills was the last place he’d ever expect to find the owner of that scent.

“Scott!” The voice sounded warped, faded, a distant echo from the gulch below, maybe. 

“Son of a fucking _bitch_.” It was a familiar voice, familiar like the scent. Exactly like the scent. From the same source. The voice started snarling out something that sounded like a list of crimes, sounding strangely like a police officer reading someone his rights. 

The blurred shape of the omega shifted, fell to its knees. He was raging something back at the familiar voice, but it was in a human tone, all the growl of the werewolf leached away. 

When the familiar voice spoke again, it was calm and steady. Scott thought he heard the word “guilty.” Then there was the smooth sound of metal sliding along metal.

The omega’s head slowly tilted forward until it was falling, turning over itself, rolling across the grass and dirt and rotting leaves. It stopped right in front of Scott’s knees, and he stared dumbly at it for a moment, before he let his eyes close and the earth rise up to meet him.

In his last moments of awareness, he could swear he heard Stiles calling out his name again, as his scent filled Scott’s every breath. 

~~~~~~~~~~

_He had just turned twenty-one, and celebrated by buying himself a bottle of Jack. Didn’t even matter that it wasn’t his first Jack. It only mattered that it was the first he’d bought for himself._

_Only two glasses in and he was feeling stupid and brave. Feeling like he could take on the world._

_Derek had answered the door before he could pull his hand back for the second knock, had looked him over in some mix of amusement and concern._

_There were many things in Stiles’ life that he would forget, but he wouldn’t ever forget a moment of that night. Every word they exchanged played on loop in his mind anytime he was alone and allowed his thoughts to wander. Every touch ruined him so that no one else would ever compare._

_There had been a lot of people who tried, people who thought they could erase the memories of that night. Every single one failed._

~~~~~~~~~~

Derek opened his eyes slowly, listening carefully for signs of danger. The ceiling was unfamiliar, the scents surrounding him a confusing mixture of known and alien. One scent in particular had him thrown, wondering if this was just some dream or something fucking with his mind.

“Don’t move your head,” warned a deep voice to his right. It was a voice he hadn’t heard in eight years, but would recognize anywhere, no matter how much it had aged. “Most of your wounds are healed, but Klaus really pulled a number on your throat. I fucking swear, Derek, you always seem to survive the most impossible injuries.” There was a faint chuckle that sounded almost fond, before an awkward throat clearing chased it away. 

“Where am I?” Derek managed to rasp out, his own voice sounded wet and breathless. Closing his eyes, he thought about the taste of chlorine and a trembling body holding him afloat. 

“Safehouse. Hopefully a _safe_ house, anyway. Scott’s in the other room. He’s looking better than you, but last I checked he’s still out of it. Surprised _you’re_ awake, honestly. Just came in to check your bandages. Now, hold still.”

Stiles had to lean into Derek’s field of vision in order to get to the bandages at his throat. _Stiles._ Eight fucking years, and he barely changed. No, wait, that wasn’t true. His eyes looked different. He had a different set to his mouth, a different bearing in his shoulders.

At least twice a year Scott--and sometimes the others--would go off and visit Stiles. They’d come back with photos and stories, and Derek had always refused to see or listen. He always told himself it was better that way. 

Closing his eyes again, Derek remembered a rough-voiced command that had been drowning in wet grief. _”Don’t.”_

“Why’d you come back?” he forced himself to say. 

The hands at his neck paused while they unwound the soaked bandages, then continued on as if completely unaffected. “Tracking someone.”

“The omega?” Opening his eyes, Derek looked up into Stiles’ and tried to seem just as neutral about their situation. He tried to ignore the way his lungs breathed in the younger man’s scent as if they’d been dying without it.

Stiles’ lips pressed into a thin line and he shook his head with one quick little jerk. “Klaus was just a fortuitous encounter. Mostly for you two.” There was a flicker of the old Stiles in his eyes, a teasing tug at the corner of his mouth, but then it was snuffed out by the stern expression of the man who was pushing thirty. “Nah, the one I’m tracking is worse.”

Derek raised his eyebrows. “Worse?”

The soiled bandages were set aside and Stiles let out a little hum as he closely inspected Derek’s slow-healing wound. “Yeah. Worse.”

“How worse?”

He darted a quick glance at Derek’s face, frowning a little, before moving to apply fresh bandages. “Serial killer. Former hunter gone rogue. Wiped out three entire packs so far. Every protector and hunter sent out to find him ends up missing.”

“Fuck.”

“Understatement. Guy’s good at what he does. Too good, actually. Many suspect he isn’t who he claimed to be when he joined the ranks, that he had some special training beforehand. Personally, I just think he’s a fucking psycho.”

The bandages were secured with some medical tape, and Stiles stepped back but not out of Derek’s view. “He’s tricky,” Stiles continued. “Changes his appearance in different, subtle ways all the time. Disguises his scent by wearing other people’s clothes. First pack he took out, he earned their trust. Once he got close, he just killed them all.”

“How?” Derek almost didn’t want to hear the answer.

“Wolfsbane. Poisoned them slowly. Drove them mad. Turned them on each other. Watched them grow weaker and weaker, until he could just step in and end it. Second pack he took out, it was even more of a game to him. He’d get each member while they were alone somehow. Lure them away, or find them out around town and trick them into going with him somewhere.”

Stiles trailed off and his gaze went distant. A tense silence crept in without his constant flow of words. Swallowing past his shredded throat, Derek gently pressed, “The third?”

Slowly those familiar-unfamiliar brown eyes slid back to look down at Derek. “He hunted them. Shot as many as he could down at their home, then patiently tracked the rest through the woods. Killed them all. Dragged their bodies back to the house, piled them all together, then burned them. After writing ‘Demons go to Hell’ on the side of the building using their blood.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. So. You and Scott are staying here with me for now. No arguments.”

“The others--”

“Are safe. Allison’s taking care of that.”

“She’s in town, too?”

“No, but she’s in communication with everyone and getting them to take different routes out of the state. They’re all being monitored by protectors, and I’ll get regular updates. It’s fine.” Huffing a short sigh, Stiles shook his head and scratched his chin. “Though, to be honest, I kind of wish you two would leave, too. Let me handle this.”

“We wouldn’t-”

“I know.” His hand fell away, and he smiled a little sadly, no longer looking at Derek. “It’s why we didn’t even try.”

“Stiles?” Scott’s voice drifted in from another room, sounding groggy and weak. 

“Be right there, buddy,” Stiles called back, some light creeping into his expression. He paused before stepping away, however, and gave Derek a long, considering look. “You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah. Feel better already.”

With a short, dismissive nod, Stiles was leaving. “Good.”

~~~~~~~~~~  
_  
“You couldn’t have known,” Derek had whispered, standing close but not close enough. “It isn’t your fault.”_

_“Shut up,” he’d rasped back, trying to focus on breathing. In. Out. In._

_“There was nothing you could have done.”_

_Out._

_“Stiles…”_

_In._

_“Stiles, please, just-”_

_A cautious hand wrapped trembling fingers around his shoulder, and the feel of it made Stiles sick. “Don’t,” he spat back, jerking his shoulder away and stumbling out of reach. Out. In.Out.In.OutInoutinoutinoutininininininin_

_“Stiles! Stiles, calm down! Please, just calm down. Calm down and look at me. Stiles.”_

_“I can’t,” he had choked out, squeezing his eyes shut and sobbing through the burning pain in his chest._

~~~~~~~~~~

Stiles had never planned to return to Beacon Hills. 

He watched Scott putter about the shitty little kitchen of their dump of a safehouse, and he wondered at how fucking ridiculous his life was. It was better to think about that, about the absurdity of it all, rather than focus on the realization that he was going to have to go into town and walk down streets he used to walk and see people he used to see and pretend that every Beacon County Sheriff’s Department cruiser didn’t make his eyes sting.

“Thanks again for saving our asses,” Scott said for what was the twelfth time. Stiles had counted. “That omega was crazy strong.”

“Happens sometimes, when they feed on other shifters,” Stiles said absently as he spread a drop cloth across the tiny card table that had been set up in the corner of the kitchen, presumably as a dining table. He had brought one of his munitions cases with him, and began sorting through his guns, deciding which needed maintenance. 

Scott whirled around from whatever he had been slicing up in order to gape at Stiles. “You mean he _ate_ other werewolves?”

“Among other things.” Stiles started meticulously taking apart one of his rifles, inspecting and cleaning each piece.

After a while, Scott just shook his head and turned back to food prep. Stiles used his task to ground himself, to focus on what was priority. It didn’t matter that he was back in that fucking town, didn’t matter that _Derek_ was in the next room. The only thing that mattered was his target. 

Fear tried to creep its way up his spine, though, accompanied by its old pal Doubt. Beacon Hills was not a place of happy endings. It was a place of death and grief and hopelessness. This guy, Roland Beaumont, if that even was his real fucking name, was not going to be an easy assignment. Stiles had known some of the people sent out before him, the ones who never came back. They were good agents, both of the protector and the hunter factions. Skilled. Tough. Yet this son of a bitch had made them vanish without a fucking trace.

The creaking floorboards announced Derek’s arrival just moments before the man shuffled into the room. He still looked too pale from blood loss, but the skin revealed as he tugged his bandages off seemed to finally be healed. “Something smells good,” he husked, voice still gritty from the damage. Stiles closed his eyes against the flash of memory it evoked.

“I’m makin’ that pasta stuff you like that I made that one time.”

“ _That_ was specific,” snorted Stiles, eyes resolutely focused on his task. 

“It is,” rumbled Derek as he ambled over towards Scott. “I know exactly what he’s talking about.”

And that...that brought Stiles up short. He looked up and watched his best friend chat animatedly with Derek. Well, Scott was animated, Derek still looked a bit like death warmed over. Sure, Scott and Stiles had still kept in touch. They still talked on the phone and Skype and Scott would come visit when he could, but… There had been a void left where Stiles used to be in Scott’s life, and Derek had evidently filled it. Stiles understood that void. He had a couple of them, himself. 

No one had filled them.

When dinner was ready, Stiles had cleared off the table and set out the plates and silverware. They sat down like some awkward little broken family. He tried, truly _tried_ to pretend like it wasn’t killing him to sit there. Tried to pretend that it didn’t cut every time Derek smiled at Scott but dropped it when he glanced at Stiles.

At least the food was good.

As dinner was winding down, Scott shifted the conversation over to how Stiles had managed to stop the omega. “I mean, seriously, Derek and I were getting our asses handed to us, and you just waltz in and stop him. How?”

Bobbing his head in a nod, Stiles hastily chewed and swallowed his last bite so he’d be able to respond. “I invented something,” he said, not without a little bit of pride. “Wanna see?”

“Dude,” chided Scott with his crooked grin, “of course!”

Stiles felt a bit like a teenager again as he rushed out of the room to grab his tool. It reminded him of high school, when all this shit was still shiny and new. Terrifying, but still thrilling in its newness, nonetheless. He returned to the kitchen holding a long, black metal pole with a broad-banded ring at one end and two small, curved blades resting just beneath the ring. Scott immediately jumped up to move closer and get a better look as Stiles proceeded to point out all the features.

“The ring functions like a handcuff, see? Then, once it’s secure, electricity is run along the metal edges here. Only enough to neutralize any supernatural strength and abilities. Then these babies,” there he pointed at the wickedly sharp blades that were just shy of being scythe-like. They curved like two crescent moons facing away from each other where they rested against the black metal of the pole. Stiles turned a bit so he had the pole pointed away from them. With a quick flick of his thumb over a small switch, the blades swung around to swipe beneath the metal ring, until the blades were almost kissing the pole. Pulling back an imbedded lever in the pole drew the blades back to their original positions.

Scott fell in love, insisting that he get to hold it. After getting multiple assurances that he would be extra careful, Stiles finally let him have at it. Derek, however, had remained stone silent the entire time. 

While Scott was preoccupied with the tool, Stiles took it upon himself to clear the table and do the dishes. Unfortunately, that required him to go near Derek, who still sat at the table and watched Scott handle the tool with a look of distaste twisting his features. Stiles tried not to let Derek’s obvious disapproval get to him. Again, he focused on his task, rooted himself in it to block out the anxiety of over-thinking anything. 

“Interesting invention,” murmured Derek, pale eyes still watching his alpha. “It’s a restraint and a method of execution all in one.”

“The restraint was its primary function, the reason I invented it,” Stiles felt compelled to defend, keeping his voice just as low. Not that it probably mattered, since Scott’s hearing was better than anyone else’s in the pack. 

Derek made a disbelieving little hum, and Stiles felt his hackles rise. Taking a slow, steady breath, he again focused on collecting the plates. “I have no other way of holding off a two-hundred-something pound wall of raging werewolf muscle when it charges at me or an innocent bystander,” Stiles explained, voice tense and agitated despite his best efforts to remain calm. “It’s saved a lot of lives. I don't always use the blades, Derek. Those...are a last resort." Stiles frowned down at the piles of dirty plates. “And are for the execution of the exceptionally guilty.”

Letting out another little hum, Derek glanced at Stiles before again focusing his full attention on Scott. “So what are you going to use to get the human you’re hunting? Invent any creative execution devices to use on _him_?”

Stiles snorted and straightened from where he’d been leaning over the table. “Luckily, humans have already been inventing different ways of killing each other, since the dawn of time. Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty of things to help me take that bastard out.”

“Guns,” huffed Derek, looking as if it was a struggle not to roll his eyes. Scott was watching them askance, still pretending to be interested in the tool. 

“Among other things. I do have a few clever little inventions of my own that I keep handy for any emergency. Literally,” Stiles added with a cheeky grin as he set the plates down in the sink. When Derek and Scott both gave him questioning looks, he simply grinned wider and shrugged. 

~~~~~~~~~~  
_  
“What’s this?” Chris asked, picking up a sheet of paper with little diagrams and the cross-section of a watch._

_“Just something I’m tinkering with,” Stiles replied, distracted by another design beneath the tip of his pencil. “Working with Maureen on crafting it and a matching bracelet.”_

_Chris arched a brow and moved to get a better look at some of the other pages. “Designing jewelry now? I thought you were working on a new restraint.”_

_“Yeah, but that gave me some ideas. And, I mean, I’ll have a spy watch. Who doesn’t want to have a fucking _spy_ watch?”_

_“Huh,” Chris grunted in agreement, both eyebrows slowly inching up his forehead as he studied the plans. “Is that a folding blade?”_

_“Can slide all the way out, if needed, to better cut the ropes.”_

_“Huh.”_

_“I was inspired by what happened when the Darach had you, and all your knives were taken away. This would be something they can’t remove. I plan to have both pieces sealed closed once they’re on me.”_

_“That’s garrotte wire.”_

_“Yep.”_

_“Huh. And are these pliers?”_

_“Mm-hmmm.”_

_“...Think you and Maureen could fashion me a set?”_

~~~~~~~~~~

Scott would never get over how weird it was to be alpha. It wasn’t like he meant to intrude on his betas’ privacies, it’s just that he naturally knew when one was hurting, be it emotional or physical pain.

Derek had been hurting for a long time.

Neither Stiles nor Derek had ever told Scott the whole story, so he had no idea why they’d been avoiding each other for so long. Stealthily watching them as he played an old Vita Stiles had in his car, Scott tried to figure out what their problems were.

They behaved very oddly around each other, never seeming sure if they wanted to melt or tense up, lean closer or pull away. Scott wasn’t an idiot, so of course he knew that a lot of the problem had something to do with stupidly obvious crushes the two used to sport for each other. For a while, he assumed it had to be something where one confessed and got rejected. That didn’t seem to make a lot of sense, though, because they had both been pining. For fucking _years_. 

Everyone had moved into the living room after dinner, and Derek and Stiles were sitting on opposite ends of the couch making stilted conversation while Scott pointedly shut them off in order to “play his game.” It was a dirty tactic, but he was frankly sick of his two best friends being complete morons. 

“How’s the neck?” Stiles asked, waving his hand towards his own neck as if to illustrate what part of the body he meant. 

Derek gave a shrug and sipped from the glass of juice he’d brought with him. On Stiles’ insistence, due to the blood loss. Scott had his own glass sitting on an end table beside his arm chair. Despite having his own end table, Derek seemed uninterested in setting his glass down.

“Stiles said that guy eats other werewolves,” Scott informed Derek, making sure to keep his eyes glued to the tiny screen in front of him and pretend to care about Nathan Drake scaling some temple wall. 

“Interesting how he’ll talk when _he_ wants to,” snarked Stiles with a huff and there-you-have-it wave of his hand. It made Scott smirk and miss the old days. “Mr. Big Shot Alpha. Thinks he’s above conversation with us peons.”

Scott snorted a laugh and exchanged warm, amused glances with his bro. Derek just silently sipped his drink. 

Fuck, it wasn’t working. Maybe because Scott was still in the room? Maybe he needed to leave, to give them both some time alone together in order to air out whatever differences drove them apart for so many years. He was getting sick of coming back from visits with Stiles, only to find Derek a brooding mess reminiscent of back when they’d first met. At least he’d had an _excuse_ back then. There was no way Stiles had done anything nearly as horrible to Derek as all the atrocities committed against him back in 2011. 

Just when Scott was seriously considering getting up and “going to bed” in order to force the two of them alone, Stiles’ phone rang. Or, well, sang “Hungry Like the Wolf.”

“Kyle,” Stiles said instead of a greeting, rising up from the couch and pacing the floor a little. “Tell me you aren’t my back-up.”

A warm male voice laughed over the phone and confirmed he was indeed. “I thought you’d be happier to see me,” Kyle teased. Scott thought back through his visits and vaguely recalled Kyle. He was a protector with tall, broad shoulders, and wild black hair. Also, if Scott wasn’t mistaken, Kyle was one of the first werewolves brought into the fold.

“Under any other circumstances, man, yeah. Of course. But, hell, you know this isn’t going to be a vacation.”

“I know.”

“ _Do_ you? Because if you did, then you’d know that you are, like, double prime target meat for this asshole. You’re someone charged with stopping him, _and_ you’re a werewolf. Seriously, why did Allison think it was a good idea to send you?”

“Oh, gee, I don’t know… Maybe because I’m the best.”

Stiles scoffed and pulled his phone away from his ear to give it a dirty look. “Excuse you? I’m sorry, but are you forgetting Calgary? How about Portsmouth? Monroe? Duluth?”

Instead of sounding offended, Kyle just laughed again, his voice filled with genuine delight. “You win, you win! _You’re_ the best, oh Great Stiles. You are the Yoda to my Luke.”

“Ew. Dude, no. No. I’m _Scott’s_ Yoda, number one, number two, ew. Again. Because Yoda and Luke would never-” he bit off his words and darted a quick glance at Derek before clenching his jaw and pointedly looking away. On the other end of the line, Kyle was laughing again. 

“The Han to my Leia, then? Or Leia to my Han? Who would you say was more skilled than the other?” 

“We are neither, so the case is moot. We are nothing Star Wars related. At all.”

“Batman to my Robin?”

“I’m hanging up now.”

Kyle laughed some more, before quickly offering apologies and promises to stop. “I’ll be in town shortly. Location Delta?”

Huffing a resigned sigh, Stiles confirmed. Scott assumed Delta was that particular safehouse. He wondered if Stiles had developed codespeak for all elements of their plan to keep his pack safe, and the thought made his heart swell a bit in pride. 

When it seemed like it was time to end the call, Kyle’s end got quiet and serious all of a sudden, his voice pitching lower as he said, “You sound aggravated by something.”

Stiles cast another second-quick glance at Derek before walking out of the room and into the hall, creating for himself the illusion of privacy. “It’s just,” he answered softly into the phone, “this place.”

“I know,” comforted Kyle. “I’ll be there soon, okay?”

“Don’t,” Stiles insisted, but Scott didn’t think he meant “don’t come,” this time. “No distractions. Besides, you know that’s not an option anymore.”

“I’m not…” Kyle sighed. “Jesus, Stiles, I’m just saying I’ll be there if you need me. To talk. Just talk.”

“Right. Look, be safe. He could already know you’re on your way.”

“Roger that.”

The phone beeped off, but Stiles didn’t come back into the living room. 

Scott gave up playing his game and frowned down at the black plastic in his lap, wondering if it was hopeless to even try to fix the two of them, now. Without saying a word, Derek got up and walked back into the kitchen with his juice glass clutched tightly in his hand.

~~~~~~~~~~  
_  
“You could stay, you know.” She had tried to pitch her voice as nonchalant, but there was an undertone of pleading. It almost made Stiles hesitate while pulling on his pants. Almost._

_“That’s not what we agreed on,” he reminded, looking around for his socks. “You know that’s not what this is.”_

_“It could be.”_

_“No.” He found one under her bra, but the other one had mysteriously vanished. Ah well, he could just wear his shoes without socks until he got home. No big deal. “It can’t.”_

_“Why?” she asked, rolling on the bed to better watch him. She really was gorgeous. Long black hair, creamy skin, pale green-brown eyes. But, that wasn’t enough. It was never enough. “From what I hear, you never let it be that. Not for anyone.”_

_“Yeah, well,” he said, doing his best to keep his voice kind. She _had_ just helped him have one spectacular orgasm, after all. “You heard wrong.”_

_He might have closed her door a bit too firmly on the way out._

~~~~~~~~~~

When _Kyle_ arrived, Derek made sure he was right behind Stiles at the door. “Just in case,” he’d claimed, trying to pass his actions off as precautionary. Stiles had given him a flat, skeptical look, but had allowed it anyway.

Kyle was...not what Derek expected. For some reason, he’d imagined some Ken doll wannabe with tan skin and blond hair and a perfect, bleached smile. Instead, Kyle honestly reminded Derek of a younger cousin of his. For a moment, he even stopped to think about whether or not it _was_ his cousin. Stiles had mentioned on the phone that this guy was a werewolf, so he might be. Though, Derek was fairly certain that cousin’s name was Steve.

Stiles shifted aside to allow Kyle to enter, and though he only carried with him a small duffle bag, a holster was visible beneath his jacket as he moved. Once the door was securely closed, Stiles moved as if to introduce Kyle to Derek. Behind him, Derek could sense Scott wandering in, and wondered if he should step aside for his alpha or remain close to Stiles.

When Kyle tried to subtly move closer to insinuate himself at Stiles’ side, the decision was made for Derek without him having to even flinch a muscle. Stiles smoothly slid away, dodging the hand that Kyle had attempted to place on the small of his back, and placed himself firmly beside Derek. “This,” said Stiles with a tight smile, “is Kyle. Kyle, this is Derek.” Just noticing Scott hovering in the background, Stiles cleared his throat and waved towards his best friend. “And you remember Scott, I’m sure.”

“Your alpha, of course.” Completely disregarding Derek, Kyle stepped around them to approach Scott and extended his hand in greeting. 

Stiles cringed, but Derek rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It’s custom,” he whispered. “Alpha first, betas second. Don’t worry about it.”

“Right, sure.” Releasing a little scoff, Stiles shrugged off Derek’s hand and headed over towards the other two. “Kyle, I hope you know you aren’t staying in this location. I thought you were just coming over to plan.” With a pointed nod towards Kyle’s duffle bag, Stiles crossed his arms and waited.

“You’re seriously going to make me stay in Bravo? Alone? Weren’t you just telling me about risk factors?”

“Like there’s strength in numbers, when it comes to this guy. Please. Don’t even try to pull that shit. There was a plan. A plan Allison and I came up with, and that is the plan that we are sticking to. The back-up is supposed to be at Bravo. It’s the best way to ensure we have both halves of Beacon Hills covered.”

“But what if something happens that cuts off communication between us? We’ll be on opposite ends of the city. Before we can get to the other, it’ll be too late.”

Stiles rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. It reminded Derek of--not of simpler times, not even of better times. Just...the past. It reminded him of back when Stiles was still _their_ Stiles, not some protector running all around the country and working for the Argents. It reminded him of late nights in front of computer screens and bulletin boards covered in paper and string. He could practically smell the burnt coffee and the stale pizza and the ripe scent of guys going too long without a shower. That had been a familiar gesture that was always followed by a lengthy rant, which often detailed all the ways Derek was wrong. Sometimes there were bullet points. Once there had even been a PowerPoint presentation.

“You will stick to the plan, or so fucking help me I’m calling Allison and you are going to be reassigned to clean-up.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Stiles leveled a flat glare. “Try me.”

Clenching his jaw, Kyle glanced from Stiles to Derek then back before giving a tight nod. “Fine. But I’m staying tonight.”

“Kyle-”

“It’s nearly midnight, and I’ve been driving for twelve fucking hours. I’m not getting back in that goddamn car. I’ll take the couch.”

“Damn fucking right you’ll take the couch,” Stiles grumbled under his breath as he turned and stormed away. He had his phone out and Allison on the line before he was even in the hallway.

When it looked like Kyle was about to follow, presumably to stop Stiles from telling her whatever he intended to tell her, Derek stopped him with a sharp glare. Scott smirked and reached out to grab Kyle’s duffle bag, playing at being a courteous host as he ushered the man towards the kitchen for some midnight refreshment.

Derek watched them go, then turned to follow Stiles down the small, narrow hallway. He found him in the bedroom at the end, which evidently was the master bedroom if the size of the bed was any indication. He was just finishing up his conversation with Allison, hissing out a terse “of course” before ending the call with a soft beep. When he turned around and saw Derek in the doorway, it was like all the air drained out of him and he slumped his shoulder against the cheap wood paneling of the wall. 

Hesitating for just a moment, Derek reached back and closed the door behind him. They were still in a house with two other werewolves, so it wasn’t like that was going to actually do much, but Derek had learned that humans appreciated the suggestion of privacy.

“What’s the plan?” Derek asked, crossing his arms and shifting his stance to show he was ready to listen for as long as needed.

Stiles blinked at him for a moment then laughed, turning to press his shoulder blades to the wall, head tilted back, as he just laughed. It was a strangely sad sound. “You going to work as a protector, Derek? Going to serve under an Argent?”

Derek frowned and shook his head, taking a small step further into the room. “I don’t trust that guy. You need proper back-up. So, what’s the plan?”

When Stiles rolled his head to stare at Derek again, his eyes looked older than someone not-quite-thirty. “He’s trustworthy. I’ve worked with him before.”

“Doesn’t matter. _I_ don’t trust him. Not with this. Not with you.”

Stiles barked out a another laugh at that, and it was a sharp, jagged thing that scraped at Derek’s insides. He pushed away from the wall and walked over to Derek, stepped right into his personal space until all Derek could smell was gunpowder and poisons and _Stiles_. “You have no fucking right to say that.”

“Look,” Derek plowed on, voice harsh and insistent, “I don’t care that he’s one of your fuck buddies-”

“Of _course_ you don’t,” Stiles muttered darkly, eyes narrowed and saying more than his mouth ever could. Which was a feat, considering how fucking _mouthy_ he was.

“-but I don’t _trust_ him. If this man you’re hunting is as dangerous as you say, then you need someone trustworthy at your back. Someone you _know_ will be there when you need him.”

“And you think that’s _you_?” Stiles opened his mouth as if to laugh again, but nothing came out. He just stumbled back, rubbing both hands over his face, mouth gaping in a parody of a laughing grin. “You absolute _fucker_.”

“Stiles-”

“Shut up. Goddammit, Derek, just shut up.” After taking a few moments to calm himself, breathing slowly in and out, Stiles lowered his hands and gave Derek a twisted smile. “The only requirement I even have for my _’fuck buddies’_ is that I can trust them. That’s literally it.” There was an uptick in Stiles’ heartbeat that had Derek cocking his head, but the man kept talking, distracting him from the implication of a lie. “When it comes down to it, I trust Kyle. He can be a bit of a persistent ass, yes, but I still trust him out on the field.”

Derek stewed for a moment, clenching his fists and trying to sort through all the words rushing angrily through his skull. “Then take Scott. Use Scott for the assignment, if you won’t take me. You trust Scott, right?”

“Derek, stop.”

“No.” It came out loud, far louder than Derek had anticipated. He could hear Scott and Kyle in the kitchen, both of them rising simultaneously from their chairs but waiting before rushing in to see what was wrong. Stiles was staring at him wide-eyed, jaw hanging loose. Then, slowly, his expression shifted, muscles tightening and brows dropping low over angry eyes. 

“I think you should leave, Derek.”

“Like _you_ did?”

Stiles’ face became a war of expressions, as if he couldn’t decide if he wanted to be angry or broken or ashamed. “Fuck you, you son of a bitch. You know why I left,” he spat out in a ragged whisper.

Derek wanted to scream, to rage, to yell: “Not really, no!” at the top of his lungs. Instead, he nodded, twice, eyes downcast. Then, he just turned around and left.

~~~~~~~~~~  
_  
“I don’t get it, Stiles,” Scott had said with an amused shake of his head while he watched the hot new recruit--Montenegro, his name was--walk down Stiles’ driveway to the SUV parked on the street. “You’re with someone else every time I visit. What gives?”_

_Stiles shrugged as he continued tending to the omelette he was preparing for Scott. “I’m not technically ‘with’ any of them. It’s all casual, no-strings stuff.”_

_“Seriously? Why? Don’t you want to settle down?”_

_“Don’t _you_?” Stiles shot back, arching a smug brow. “I’m not the only one who’s chronically single.”_

_Scott laughed and stepped over to prepare the coffee. “Yeah, but I’m actually out there dating and trying to find someone. You just said everything with you is intentionally casual. That’s different.”_

_Shrugging, Stiles flipped the omelette. The smell of cheese, mushrooms, eggs, and peppers made his stomach growl and he considered making the same combination for himself next. “None of them are what I want.”_

_Scott made an agreeing sound and leaned his hip against the counter once the coffee was steeping in the press. “Like Derek.”_

_The spatula nearly flew from Stiles’ hand. “What?”_

_“Like Derek. Only not entirely. He just refuses to be with anyone in any capacity. Insists that he has to trust them implicitly before he lets anyone close again, be it sex or otherwise. I keep trying to tell him that a good fuck might loosen him up a bit, but he just gives me that look--you know the one, that patented Derek bitchface--and tells me to grow up.” Scott looked genuinely amused by that, all bright smiles and twinkly brown eyes. “Then, of course, I remind him that it’s rude to speak to his alpha that way. Always makes his bitchface get worse, before he finally cracks and pushes me away with a laugh.”_

_Derek laughed, evidently. It was a thing he did._

_Stiles blinked rapidly a few times and pretended it was because of the peppers._

~~~~~~~~~~

Stiles glared up at the ceiling and its stupid water stains and ugly light fixture and random cobwebs. He couldn’t sleep, even though he knew he needed to be sharp and alert for the mission. The entire time he’d sat there reviewing the plan with Kyle at the kitchen table, Stiles’ mind kept wandering back to Derek. 

He didn’t understand Derek. Not anymore. Maybe not ever, even though once he’d thought he known the man inside-out. 

Scott told him before that Derek refused to hear anything about Stiles from their visits. He’d told Stiles this as a way of opening up a line of questioning that Stiles refused to answer. If Derek didn’t want to tell Scott, then Stiles would respect that. Respect that? Respect what, though, really? That Derek didn’t want to acknowledge what they’d done to such an extent that he’d effectively blocked Stiles from his life? Where was the respect for _Stiles_ in that?

Yet…

Yet, for all of Stiles’ assumptions about Derek’s sudden disconnect with him, the guy hadn’t been acting like he hated Stiles. Hell, he’d gotten concerned for Stiles’ wellbeing to the point that he’d tried to muscle his way into the mission in place of Kyle! What the fuck did that even _mean_?

Strother Martin’s voice rang through Stiles’ mind: “What we’ve got here is failure to communicate.”

After staring at his ceiling for another five minutes while his fingers tapped anxiously against his thigh, Stiles threw off the covers and headed down the hall to Derek’s room. He didn’t knock, not really wanting to wake the others. Instead, he leaned close and whispered “Derek,” soft and clear. 

When Derek opened the door, Stiles was suddenly awash with deja vu. Tamping it down, he tilted his head back towards his own door in obvious invitation to move the discussion elsewhere. At Derek’s small nod, Stiles turned and silently padded back to his room.

The overhead light seemed too harsh for a talk at three in the morning, so Stiles only turned on the dinky bedside lamp. Derek moved to the window, pressed himself against the wall and carefully peeked through the gaps in the curtains to examine the wilderness outside. “What’s wrong?” he asked quietly, eyes glowing a faint blue in the low light.

“Nothing. No, well, _something_ , but not that. I wasn’t trying to alert you of any imminent danger or anything.” Now that he had Derek standing there in front of him, Stiles suddenly felt awkward and unsure, as if he had regressed to being a fucking kid again. He hated it.

Derek turned around to face him fully, but his eyes barely passed over him before focusing instead on the generic print of a seaside painting on the wall behind Stiles. “Then what’s wrong?”

“I wanted to apologize. For earlier. When I yelled at you.” That seemed to throw Derek for a bit of a loop, and worked to snap his focus right to Stiles. “You were concerned and trying to help. I get that. It’s just… Fuck, Derek, you have to understand how confusing that is for me, since you haven’t spoken to me in _eight fucking years_.”

“Not by choice,” said Derek, almost too softly for Stiles to hear. For a moment, Stiles wasn’t sure that’s what he actually _had_ heard. It didn’t make any fucking sense.

Stepping closer, Stiles squinted at Derek’s face in the dim light, trying to read him like he’d been trained, watching for any tells. “What do you mean by that? Of course it was by your choice. _I_ sure as hell didn’t choose that.”

His words did something to Derek, made it look like his brain was trying to process his meaning and shutting itself down in sheer incomprehension. “What.”

Stiles blinked at him and tried valiantly to keep a handle on his anger, because obviously some wires somewhere had been horribly crossed. “You thought I didn’t want you,” he said slowly, taking another step closer. Derek’s eyes were flitting all over Stiles’ face, his lips parted as if he was trying to make words that he had no voice to speak. “You stayed away because you thought that’s what _I_ wanted,” Stiles emphasized, realization bubbling up like vomit after too many drinks. “Christ, Derek. That’s the stupidest thing.” He wanted to laugh and cry, but mostly he wanted those eight years back. “You stupid, beautiful _idiot_.”

“I don’t understand,” whispered Derek, and that was blatantly obvious by his lost expression. 

“Well that makes fucking two of us,” laughed Stiles, his eyes stinging. The distance between them was all but gone, barely an arm’s span apart. “I thought you were ashamed or something, that you regretted--”

“No,” Derek rushed to insist, closing that space and gripping Stiles’ shoulders so tight that there would probably be ten perfectly-formed little bruises. “God, Stiles, _no_. It was never that. You told me you didn’t want me to touch you, that you didn’t want to look at me. I thought…”

Stiles stared into Derek’s eyes and realized he _did_ know this man, knew him so fucking well that he should have realized sooner why Derek might have stayed away. “You thought I blamed you. Or myself. Or both. Because it happened that night, when I was with you.”

Instead of answering, Derek leaned in and pressed their foreheads together, his eyes closing on a sigh. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, but he didn’t clarify.

Closing his own eyes, Stiles lifted his hands to rest atop Derek’s. “So am I. Jesus. Eight fucking years. I kept thinking you’d change your mind, that you’d come with Scott to visit sometime, at least. You’re such a dick.”

Derek pressed closer, tilted his head so that their noses brushed, then their lips nearly touched. “You said,” murmured Derek, and the ghost of his breath against Stiles’ lips made him shiver, “that you need to trust the people you’re with.”

“Yeah,” said Stiles, softening his voice to match Derek’s. He licked his lips and shivered again when his tongue grazed Derek’s lower lip. “And from what I hear, you’re sort of the same. You have to have a lot of trust in someone, to let them get that close.”

“Mm-hmm,” Derek rumbled in agreement. His hands slid down Stiles’ arms, forcing Stiles’ hands to fall away and hover awkwardly for a moment before rising to bury their fingers in Derek’s hair. “So, my next question is...do you still trust me?”

“Yeah,” Stiles confessed on a shaky little laugh. “Despite everything, I never stopped. How ‘bout you? Still trust me?”

“With my life.” Then finally, they were kissing. It was like coming home, but not to some godforsaken place like Beacon Hills. No, it was like coming home to a place of warmth and safety and comfort. 

Stiles grabbed at Derek, stretching out the fabric of his shirt as he clawed and tugged. It was different from his memories, but the same. The stubble was rough against his chin and lips, and Derek’s mouth was warm, but it was more desperate than it had been before. Back then, it had been slow, drawn-out, the two of them indulging in each other. Savoring. Stiles had kissed Derek back then as if he almost knew it would be his only chance in nearly a decade. He’d done his best to memorize every movement, every sigh and sound, every taste. 

This time, it was fear that motivated him--fear that this wasn’t real, that he’d wake up the next morning alone. Fear that he wanted something Derek didn’t want. 

“I want you to fuck me,” Stiles whispered against his jaw, knowing at least _that_ was something they probably both wanted. Hopefully. It was a deviation from last time, a reversal of the parts they had played. Maybe Derek wouldn’t--

“Yes,” breathed Derek, his hands running firmly up and down Stiles’ back, bunching his shirt up to give himself access to skin. “Fuck, _yes_.” Voice dropping to a growl, he backed Stiles up to the bed and carefully tipped him back with a broad hand pressed between shoulder blades to ease him down. The move had Derek lowering himself along with Stiles, the two of them shifting together up the bed until they could stretch out fully and get tangled up in each other’s limbs. 

Clothes became horribly inconvenient, not just because they were in the way, but because their removal required a shift of attention away from kissing. They were as quick as they could be about it, their eyes constantly locking gazes even as they tugged and pulled and kicked fabric aside. The kissing changed its stripes again once they were both naked. It was still desperate and hard, but there was an energy that vibrated through each stroke of tongue and press of lips. 

Derek pulled back, a sudden and upsetting realization in his eyes. “I don’t have anything,” he started to say, but Stiles just shook his head and motioned towards his duffle.

The ten seconds it took Derek to get to the duffle and back were excruciatingly long for Stiles, and he could swear they almost physically hurt. Which was stupid, but he was never very smart when it came to anything Derek. When Derek was once again draped across him, he kissed Stiles with an obvious possessiveness that seriously _did_ hurt Stiles to his core.

For a fleeting moment, irrational guilt tugged at Stiles, made him want to issue forth apologies and promises. _They didn’t mean anything,_ his mind screamed, while his mouth kept the words at bay by kissing. Derek must have discovered the words somehow, anyway, perhaps reading them in the clenching of Stiles’s muscles or feeling them like braille in the staccato kisses to his face and neck. “It’s okay,” he assured softly into Stiles’ ear, petting him like one would a frightened animal, slow and steady strokes along his torso. 

Stiles closed his eyes against what he saw in Derek’s expression, buried his fingers in the man’s hair, and pulled him in for another long kiss. “Go slow,” Stiles mumbled into Derek’s mouth. “It’s…”

“I’ll go slow,” assured Derek, and his hands stopped their stroking to rest on Stiles’ hips. “As slow as you want. You tell me what you want me to do, what you need.”

So, Stiles showed him. He took the tiny bottle of lube, trying not to think about why he always kept some on-hand, and slicked his own fingers. Closing his eyes again, he reached down and held up his balls with one hand while guiding the other where he needed it. The action was familiar to him, but not with an audience. Never with an audience. He kept his eyes closed tight and pretended to be alone, thinking maybe that would calm his nerves.

Derek shattered any such illusion, running his hands along Stiles’ thighs and hips and sides, whispering things that might have been words but Stiles wouldn’t allow himself to hear. The words “look at me” cut through his concentration, and Stiles felt compelled to slowly open his eyes. Derek was smiling at him, but it didn’t look happy. It looked like someone who had long ago given up on happiness. 

That was when Stiles realized that this was truly a horrible idea. As soon as the target was neutralized, Stiles would be leaving, putting this fucking town behind him and never glancing back. And Derek? Derek was Scott’s Second. He couldn’t pack up and relocate like other members of the pack, didn’t have that luxury. 

Derek’s fingers pressed and slid in along the two Stiles already had inside, ridiculously careful in their movements. It stretched and burned, but that wasn’t what had Stiles’ eyes stinging and his face blanching as he looked away. “Stop,” whispered Derek, “don’t do that. Look at me.”

Against his better judgement, Stiles did as he was asked. He stared at Derek in the burnished gold light of the lamp, studied everything that he’d been without for so long. Derek was just as amazing as Stiles remembered, just as stupidly perfect in build. He still had those cute little bunny teeth, which peeked out at Stiles through Derek’s parted lips. His eyes were the same color but looked different. Older, maybe, but Stiles didn’t think that was all it was. It had him reaching up with his free hand to scritch his fingers through Derek’s scruff before smoothing his palm to cup the man’s cheek. 

“It’s good, I’m ready,” Stiles said softly, withdrawing his own fingers, letting them brush against Derek’s. He felt far from ready, despite his body being as prepared as it could possibly get.

If Derek had just pressed Stiles down and shoved in, taking what he wanted, then maybe it would have been better. Maybe then Stiles would have a different memory to overwrite their only other night together, one which would destroy the remembered _rightness_ of it. Maybe then he’d finally be able to get over this guy.

But, no, the jerk wouldn’t give him that freedom.

Derek was careful. So fucking careful. He made sure to put a pillow beneath Stiles’ hips, to draw his legs to just the right angle that it would make everything easier and make Stiles feel amazing. It was the kind of good that shouldn’t happen, not the first time doing this, he thought wildly, hands gripping at Derek’s arms. He tilted his head back, breaking their strangely intense eye contact in order to laugh through his panting breaths. Derek was going to ruin him in every way, it seemed. 

Murmuring Stiles’ name like a prayer, Derek rolled his hips with an ease that a man who had not been fucking for the past eight years shouldn't be allowed to possess. Stiles almost said Derek’s name back, but choked himself on the sound, swallowed it down, and closed his eyes again. He wasn’t allowed to get too attached, wasn’t allowed to treat this like it meant anything. Even though it did; it meant too much. 

Derek’s fingers were smooth against Stiles’ heated skin, and wrapped perfectly around his erection. Honestly, Stiles didn’t even think he needed the added stimulus, as he could already feel himself tipping near the edge. Again Derek commanded that Stiles look at him, and that, _that_ was too much. He came staring into Derek’s eyes, and it was sappy as hell, but he didn’t fucking care. Because immediately after, Derek was falling with him, moaning Stiles’ name so damn prettily, and looking beyond shattered.

Not wanting any awkwardness to seep in around the edges of that moment, Stiles led them into a long series of kisses. They ignored the mess now pressed into their bellies and dripping from between Stiles’ legs, and simply wrapped themselves up in each other and kissed. 

~~~~~~~~~~

_That morning had been a perfect morning. The sun was leaking through the gaps in the curtains, trickling over them in bed but amazingly missing their faces. Just a lovely, golden warmth that tingled along bare skin._

_Derek had been beautiful. All sleepy, gentle smiles, the likes of which Stiles never thought he’d see on Derek’s face. Happiness and Derek were not words that were often used in the same sentence, and Stiles was amazed at the implication that_ he _was the one to change that for the older man._

_This, thought Stiles, was what he wanted to wake up to every day, for the rest of his life. Maybe that was thinking a bit too seriously too soon, moving a bit too fast. It was the morning after their first night together. A night of many firsts, actually. Still, it was the truth. Stiles had been pretty damn sure that Derek was the one, for _years_. That morning simply confirmed it._

_Then, as they started to shift closer and hands started to wander along each other’s sun-dappled skin, Stiles’ phone rang. With a few soft-spoken words from Scott, that morning quickly turned into the worst day of his life._

~~~~~~~~~~

Scott restlessly paced the small livingroom, doing his best to listen to the outside world. Something was off, he could feel it. Something besides Derek’s strange mix of emotions or Stiles’ constant fluctuations in heartbeat. The two of them were still in Stiles’ room, even though the sun had been up for a couple of hours, and seemed to be trying to find the courage to leave. If he wasn’t so distracted by the strange feeling itching under his skin, Scott would probably be a little annoyed with them. Obviously they’d succeeded in making _some_ type of breakthrough last night, but something was still standing between them and unnecessarily complicating things.

He’d worry about it later, though.

Kyle had been gone when Scott got up, which he thought was strange. It would have left the man with very little sleep, and werewolf or not, that wasn’t very ideal when one needed to stay sharp for a mission. All his things were gone, though, as was the SUV he’d arrived in, plus there wasn’t any new person scent in the house, so Scott had to assume the guy left willingly and on his own. 

A scent hit him and he stopped short about three feet from the door. He knew that scent, and also knew it hadn’t been there a moment before. There had been no strange sounds, no footsteps, nothing. Yet, that scent was close. Very, very close. So close that it was practically overpowering, since Scott had been straining his senses all morning in an effort to stay alert.

“Derek,” he said quietly, cocking his head to listen even more carefully to the forest outside, “come here and bring Stiles. Right now. Something’s wrong.”

He heard his beta relay the message in a hushed voice, heard them slipping from bed and getting dressed, and the clicking of guns being cocked. He didn’t hear anything outside, though. Just birds and wind and a deer nearly half a mile out. 

“What’s up,” Stiles asked, face set firm and a magnum in his hands. 

Derek followed behind him with an automatic, but he seemed to smell what was wrong as soon as they entered the room. Reaching out, Derek placed a stilling hand on Stiles’ chest and nodded silently toward the door. “Blood,” he whispered. 

Squaring his shoulders, Scott crossed the distance to the door and held his hand out for the nob. Behind him, Stiles and Derek were moving into position to cover him, if need be. After giving one last hard listen for anything amiss, Scott wrenched open the door.

Stiles cursed once, quietly, but otherwise remained silent despite his rapid pulse. Derek was issuing a low growl, and Scott knew he’d see bright blue eyes if he glanced back. Scott’s own vision shifted as he took in the scene, searching for clues or any sign of the person who did this still being nearby. 

Sitting in a chair was Kyle--or, rather, Kyle’s body. He held a cardboard sign that said “I see you” in black marker, which Scott supposed was supposed to be ironic considering Kyle’s eyes had been crudely removed. That alone shouldn’t have been enough to kill him, though, and Scott tried to see if he could spot any other injuries. When he saw a thick red line across Kyle’s neck, he felt he’d found his answer. 

“I’m going to kill him,” promised Stiles, still keeping his voice hushed. “I’m going to fucking _kill_ him.”

“That’s the plan, isn’t it?” Scott asked, keeping his voice as calm as possible. “Call Allison and report this. Figure out the next move. We’ve dealt with threats before.”

Stiles snorted and muttered under his breath about nearly getting killed by omegas and having gotten soft, but he was lowering his gun and moving away to fetch his phone and do as told. Derek stayed, though, and continued to examine the scene from the relative safety of the inside. “That chair looks familiar,” he finally said.

“Yeah. And the sign’s made from a delivery box.”

“Both from Marco’s,” Derek confirmed, referencing the old pizzeria that had closed down twelve years ago. After Scott’s affirmative hum, Derek glanced at him then back at the scene. “Think he’s getting sloppy?”

“I think it’s an invitation.”

“You mean a trap.”

“That, too.”

~~~~~~~~~~

_”This is your first assignment,” Chris had said, setting a file down in front of Stiles. It contained photos and reports and a map._

_After a while of skimming over the information, Stiles had lifted his head to look steadily up at Chris. “This says he’s human.”_

_“Yeah,” acknowledged Chris, staring back, “and it also says he killed eight people, both human and werewolf. This assignment going to be a problem for you?”_

_Stiles looked back down at the file, at the little werewolf girl that had been the man’s first victim. “No,” he said firmly. “No problem at all.”_

~~~~~~~~~~

Derek did not have to fake the wave of sudden panic that had him grabbing Stiles’ keys and bellowing for the man to hurry the fuck up. It was two hours after Scott had left to “perform recon,” and Derek had been doing his best to remain calm until he felt the swoop in his gut that told him his alpha was in danger. 

Stiles was pulling him out the door and towards the SUV before Derek could finish yelling, both of them doing their best to ignore the corpse still “looking” at the door. They stumbled to a stop just shy of the driveway, however, when Stiles’ foot caught on something in the leaves. It was the restraining tool he’d invented, its blades unleashed and still bloody with implication. Stepping carefully over it, neither of them brought up the fact that it had been stored inside the house.

“You have to stay calm,” Stiles gritted out at Derek as he navigated the empty streets that skirted the town. “Just remember the plan.”

The plan, Derek told himself, trying to nod, trying to ignore the phantom pain and overwhelming fear. He couldn’t lose another pack. Not again, _not again_.

So. The plan. The plan had not been spoken, only written, and even then in code. Everything Stiles did for this mission was in code. He had even reported to Allison in code, and she had responded in kind. 

Stiles managed to convey, through small hand gestures and pointed looks, that he suspected their target was using something to monitor them somehow. Derek figured there was something from the previous cases to support this, and also thought it made sense considering the message left at their door. 

Still, he couldn’t help but worry that maybe he missed something during the planning, missed a significant glance or shift of Stiles’ hand which would mean something else entirely. Scott had been confident, though, before heading out. He’d clapped Derek and Stiles on the shoulders, given them each a gentle squeeze, and said: “See you soon,” before darting off on foot.

“I said _calm down_ ,” Stiles hissed, reaching over to grab Derek’s bobbing leg. “You’re going to make _me_ nervous.”

“Why aren’t you already nervous? He’s _your_ best friend.”

“He’s both of our’s,” Stiles corrected without even a touch of bitterness or jealousy. Derek spared a moment to wonder at all the ways Stiles had matured over the time they’d been apart.

As Derek was opening his mouth to respond, there was a loud bang, followed immediately by a pop and metallic screech. Then Stiles was swearing loudly as the vehicle swerved out of control before rolling down a ditch.

~~~~~~~~~~

_”He’s just a kid,” the female werewolf had sneered, her clawed hands gripping his chin to force him to look up at her. She was more feral than Kali, more depraved than Gerard. Her rap sheet was huge, her file filled with so much death. The only name they had for her was “Shiva,” which had made Stiles laugh for a good ten minutes and ask if she was maybe related to Kali or something, because seriously those were some ridiculously coincidental handles._

_Thinking about it had him laughing again, grinning so wide his cut lips stung. Her grip had gotten firmer, her eyes flashing a warning red. “We’ll see how well you laugh without your lower jaw,” she had hissed._

_Stiles’ eyes had gleamed and his grin grew sharper. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”_

~~~~~~~~~~

Stiles woke up slowly, feeling heavy and a little dizzy, but kept his eyes closed. He listened carefully and breathed in calm, deep breaths. The place smelled like dust and mildew, with a faint hint of old cheese and tomato. Beneath it all, though, was the taint of ozone and singed flesh. Hearing the buzz, low and constant, made Stiles’ lips jerk down in a small frown. The echoing footsteps that were growing steadily closer to his right let him know that he’d already been found out, so he opened his eyes and blinked against the bare fluorescent lamp that was angled his way. 

“If it ain’t Argent’s little Golden Boy,” Roland Beaumont jeered, his accent thick and Southern. Stiles knew from witness accounts that the man could drop it in an instant, sound like he came from anywhere, but he supposed that there was no need for pretending at the moment. “Bet they thought you were gonna be the thing to finally stop me.” At that, he chuckled and turned the lamp so that it shone away and into the darkness, bringing Scott and Derek into view. They were both bound to chairs, just like Stiles, except they were held there by bare wires connected to car batteries instead of rope.

Checking his friends over for injuries, Stiles was relieved to see that they were at least both alive and conscious, the both of them looking anxiously between Beaumont and Stiles. Then, Beaumont himself stepped into view, looking a bit more drawn and gaunt than the photos in his files. “We’re gonna play a little game,” he purred, his denim blue eyes glinting in the light. 

Stiles snorted and pressed his tongue against his split lip before responding. “Wow, yeah, this isn’t cliche at all. Let me guess, you’re going to make me pick? Choose between my best friend and my--”

“Not at all,” Beaumont interrupted with a grin. “We’re gonna play a game of which one of you three will break first and tell me where the rest of the pack is.”

Well, _fuck_.

“They don’t know,” Stiles snapped, narrowing his eyes and willing the psychopath to believe him. “It was something that the protectors and I arranged. They weren’t even aware that the others were relocated until after the fact.”

“That right?” Beaumont asked casually as he turned to step slowly up to Scott and then Derek, studying their expressions for any hint of a lie. “What he say true, boys? You let some human _hunter_ come in and move your pack right out from under your noses?” He tsked and shook his head. “Now, that ain’t very competent, is it? Hell, that kind of neglectful behavior in a pack’s leaders makes me wonder if you’d even notice me gettin’ to ‘em first.”

Neither of them said anything, but Scott’s glare practically yelled “Of _course_ I’d notice!”

“Well then, I suppose we best change the game a bit. Since Mr. Stilinski over here claims that _he’s_ the only one who knows anything, then I suppose we ought to find the best way to extract that information. You boys have any ideas?”

When all he got was continued silence and hateful glares, Beaumont grinned wide. “No? Well, don’t matter none. I’ve got myself a couple ideas that might work. Now, what was it you were sayin’ about choosin’?” He turned that sick grin on Stiles while at the same time reaching out to grip Derek firmly by the hair. “You’re a sick man, Stilinski, taking up with beasts.”

“Says the psychopath who slaughters families.”

“Exterminates vermin, is more like. You know these things ain’t real people. They ain’t nothin’ but monsters.”

“There’s only one monster here,” Derek growled, trying to jerk his head free and cringing from the pull on his hair. “And it’s _touching_ me.”

Beaumont made an amused “oh” sound and turned to give Derek his full attention. “Sounds like someone’s volunteering. You wanna help me make your boyfriend scream? Get him to break down and tell me all I need?”

Derek grit his teeth in a fake grin. “I don’t need any help in making him scream, thanks.”

That made Beaumont let out a surprised little laugh, even as his fingers tightened and he jerked Derek’s head back. “Oh, this one’s funny. I’d almost like him, if he weren't so goddamn disgusting.”

Stiles made eye contact with Scott while Beaumont was distracted, and then turned his attention back to their captor. Ever so carefully, he twisted his hands where they were bound behind his back, shifting so his fingers could curl up just right.

Scott was suddenly snarling at Beaumont, doing his best to be an imposing alpha wolf despite the electricity keeping him human. He raged, demanding that the man release his beta, that he take on Scott instead, or was he too _chicken_ to face an alpha. 

Releasing Derek’s hair, Beaumont stormed over to Scott, though he made sure to stay out of range of his snapping teeth. Human form or not, seemed Beaumont didn’t want to take the risk of getting turned. “There will be plenty of time for you, don’t worry. First, though, I’m gonna find the rest of your pack. Then, I’m gonna let you watch them die, one by one, let you feel the pain of their loss. I hear it’s like losin’ a limb, you know. Like part of you just got ripped right out.”

Again Scott snarled, thrashing so much that his chair wobbled. It had Beaumont laughing, as if it was truly the funniest thing in the world to see someone so upset. “Look at you,” he laughed, “like you think you can do fuck all from your position. You ain’t nothin’ now, boy. You’re just some little shit who thinks he’s tough. We’ll see how long that keeps up, though. Oh, yes, we’ll see.”

“No. We won’t.”

Beaumont was about an inch shorter than Stiles. He was a stocky man in his forties, with broad shoulders and salt-and-pepper hair. His body was well-muscled and bore traces of old scars. Stiles idly wondered, as he tugged more firmly on the garrotte, if he’d win against Beaumont in hand-to-hand. Maybe. Stiles _had_ been training nearly non-stop for years. Still, this guy was pretty fucking tough. Like, for instance, how he refused to just fucking _die_ , and kept trying to reach back and grab Stiles or shake him off. It only succeeded in pulling the wire tighter, however, until it even pierced the skin and painted little trickles of blood down his straining neck.

Finally, the man stopped moving, and Stiles continued to keep the wire taut even as they both sank to the ground. Once he had Beaumont’s body on the floor, Stiles unwrapped the wire and stood up, searching for a gun. He ignored Scott and Derek’s inquiries as he moved, his mind focused and jaw set. The mission was not complete until he was certain the target was neutralized. He found his magnum on a table with a scattered collection of a few of their things. “This is going to be loud,” he warned, before aiming squarely at Beaumont’s head and pulling the trigger. 

Only once he was sure the man was dead did he move to turn off the electricity being pumped to the exposed wires binding his friends. They tore free as soon as they felt their powers returned, and Scott even let his eyes bleed red for a bit, teeth growing, as a means of comfort.

Derek was suddenly there, pulling Stiles to him and burying his face in his neck. He didn’t say anything, just clung to Stiles’ torn, bloody clothes, and breathed in his scent. Slowly, awkwardly, Stiles lifted his arms to hug Derek back.

“How did you get free?” Scott eventually asked, rubbing his own wrists and watching as the skin slowly healed. “I mean, I know that was the plan, and you said to trust you, but you never really explained _how_ it was going to happen.”

Stiles pushed Derek back enough to be able to hold out his arms to show them. The matching silver bracelet and watch gleamed over the rope-burned bruises of Stiles’ wrists. “They were sealed while on me, so they can’t be removed,” he explained. 

Scott grinned at him, exclaiming, “That’s so fucking cool,” but Derek was just staring down at the jewelry. He ran his fingers over the bracelet, carefully rotating it on Stiles’ wrist to get a better look. The designs in the metal depicted celtic knots around the concentric circles of Scott’s symbol. As he shifted it, though, the light caught on the very, very faint image that had been brushed shallowly into the silver, right in the center of the smallest circle. It was a triskelion, exactly like the one on Derek’s back.

“We need to get out of here,” Stiles said softly, pulling his arm away from Derek’s grip. “I gotta call Allison and report all this. Get some clean-up crews in to handle this and--and Kyle.”

“Yeah,” Scott agreed, voice soft and eyes mostly on his beta. “Yeah, let’s go.”

As they started to walk away, Derek reached out and grabbed Stiles by his sleeve, tugging a little to urge him to wait. “Later,” Stiles promised with a little shake of his head and a touch of pleading in his eyes. “We’ll talk later.”

Derek nodded silently back, and slid his hand down to entwine his fingers with Stiles’.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \----From the comments section----  
> NNi:  
>  Wow this was good!! I want to read more about it! What will they do now? Will Stiles stay?  
>  Did Stiles get hurt?it'd be great if he had gotten some injury he hasn't even noticed yet ...or if he hid it from Derek and Scott, because the mission had to be finished.  
>  Anyway. Great job! This hurt to read a lot ... But in an awesome way!
> 
> Omni:  
>  I wanted to leave it rather open-ended and ambiguous. But... Um...
> 
> (Proceed with copy-paste)

Stiles wasn't seriously injured from the crash. Nothing that a little R&R couldn't take care of. After that case, he more than earned it. Scott suggested Stiles stay there in Beacon Hills while he recover, and Derek hadn't spoken a word about that but his eyes were pretty much yelling agreement and willing Stiles to stay.

The town still felt too much like a poison, though, so he made a compromise and booked a hotel the next town over. He stayed for a week and a half, with Derek spending most of those days (and nights) with him. They tried to talk about what they were doing, what they could possibly get from this. It was just...too painful, really, to approach head-on. Derek seemed to understand on some level the truth that Stiles had already realized: Stiles couldn't stay there and Derek couldn't leave with him.

On Stiles' last morning there, they didn't speak a word. He packed his stuff, jaw set, eyes averted, and Derek watched him without knowing what to say or do. They kissed in the parking lot beside Stiles' SUV, both of them gripping each other's heads and trying to imprint their teeth marks on the other's lips. Then, Stiles drove off towards Nevada and his next assignment.

Two months later, Stiles was at the protector HQ and planning out the next mission with Chris. It was a smaller profile case, which was why it was just him and Chris in the War Room glaring at photos and maps. Allison would only break herself away from running the organization to assist them on a case if it was something as big and bad as Beaumont. So, both men were rather startled and confused when the heavy metal door swung open to reveal a grinning Allison, folders in hand.

"We have two new agents," she explained, eyes twinkling and smile dimpling her cheeks. She looked ten years younger, and both Chris and Stiles couldn't help but smile back at her.

When she stepped aside to reveal the new recruits, Stiles' smile slowly slid off his face to be replaced by the slack-jaw of the truly stunned. Scott laughed at his reaction before bounding into the room to pull him into a tight hug. Derek, however, was more reserved. He moved slowly, cautiously, eyes taking in every element of the room as if seeking out traps. When Derek was right in front of Stiles, Scott happily moved away to allow the two some space.

"Derek," Stiles breathed, not sure that what he was witnessing was reality instead of a dream.

"Hi," was the quiet response, accompanied with a wry little smirk.

"You're working for Argents?" As the words escaped his mouth, Stiles wished he could wrangle them back. He shouldn't remind Derek of that, shouldn't ruin this chance.

Derek just gave a small shrug and moved in even closer. "I see it more as working alongside you again."

"Oh." Stiles was having a hard time keeping his focus on Derek's eyes instead of his lips.

"After you left, Scott and I agreed that things really just weren't the same without you. Feels too much like our pack has been scattered, having you and Allison so far away."

"We relocated," Scott tacked on with a smile and rolling bounce on the balls of his feet. "The whole pack is moving out here."

Stiles looked from Derek to his best friend, then over at the Argents. "Can someone say something to let me know this isn't a dream," he said.

Derek smiled and leaned closer to whisper into Stiles' ear something only the two of them would know. When he pulled back, Stiles sighed out a "thank fuck" before leaning forward to capture Derek's lips in a happy, relieved kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to yell at me on [tumblr](http://cursedtruth.tumblr.com) for writing this instead of the romcom suit shop AU.


End file.
